


Inhibitions

by shipsandglitter



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: (Gay) tension, Anxiety, Coming Out, Coming Out to Parents, Cyrus Goodman deserves all the hugs, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 15:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipsandglitter/pseuds/shipsandglitter
Summary: "Maybe he just had to do it. Maybe he had to let go of his inhibitions, his pre-conceived plans, everything, and march right down those stairs with nothing but intent."~A.k.a Cyrus comes out to his parents, and suddenly they understand why he talks about a certain boy so much. Also TJ gives him a hug because it's what he deserves.





	Inhibitions

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's currently 3am as I'm posting this so I'm tired, gay and full of love for Cyrus Goodman. Hope you guys enjoy!!

_Hey dad, hey Sharon, I’m gay._

_Hey, what’s up guys, I don’t like girls!_

_Hey, you know those grandkids you’re looking forward to in future? Yeah, they may be logistically impossible. Sorry._

_Hey, you know Ellen? The TV show host? Yeah, the gay one. Anyway - just thought I’d let you know that her and I share a trait and that’s not liking the opposite gender._

Cyrus let out a heavy sigh, blowing some of his hair up in the process. He placed his hands down on his desk, feeling butterflies begin to swarm his stomach at the prospect of what he was planning. His heart was soaring, and his clammy hands were shaking, and _was the room supposed to be spinning like this?_

Maybe he wasn’t as ready as he thought it was. Or, maybe, coming out would always be a nerve-wracking process no matter how long he waited. 

He’d spent a countless amount of late nights staring up at his plain white ceiling, with nothing but deafening silence to give him company as his mind raced with a million different scenarios.

Each option was becoming more and more convoluted, to the point where he wasn’t sure if his parents wouldn’t even _recognise_ he was trying to come out to them. He supposed it was his mind’s way of escaping, of recoiling from the prospect of coming out. 

Cyrus was hyper-aware of the media his parents consumed, in hope it would shed some light on their view of people like him. All he’d gotten so far were tiny inclinations, tiny indicators that _maybe_ this wouldn’t go terribly.

He let out the breath he’d been holding, turning his attention to the window. Through it, he could see the last remnants of light fading, with light wispy clouds drifting peacefully across the darkening sky. His body felt stiff now with nerves as his grip on the desk tightened. Distantly, he could feel the cool wood pressing up against his skin, turning his fingers white with the pressure after a few moments, but it somehow provided him with a tiny sense of relief. 

The swings weren’t an option. Not anymore. So here he was instead, left with a ball of anxiousness that had initially settled in the pit of his stomach, but seemed to be clawing its way up to the surface now.

_Why was this so anxiety-inducing?_

He’d crossed a major hurdle in allowing himself to utter the words ‘I’m gay,’ which held weight in comparison to simply admitting that he was crushing on a guy. Those words had kept him awake at one time, but now they brought him relief. He’d felt light as air after saying them aloud, solidifying them, and it was that moment he was sure as ever they were true. 

It wasn’t an _‘I don’t like I girls as much as originally intended,’_ or an _‘oh god that boy is kind of cute,’_ it was a _‘no - this is me.’_ This is who I am. This is the part of me that shouldn’t matter as much as it apparently did? but here he was regardless, having a full-blown freak out over telling his dad and step-mom. He’d always prided himself on maintaining some form of rationality when it came to others, but that didn’t apply to himself nearly as much as he wanted it to.

When the silence became too much, Cyrus began flicking through his phone desperately in search of some music to fill it, hands still trembling as he did so. A warm night-light, in the shape of a dinosaur, lit the back corner of his room. Apart from that, he was enveloped by darkness as stars began to speckle the night sky, accompanied now by a clear view of the moon. 

He turned up the music, not focusing so much on the lyrics as he was on his own thoughts. Hearing another voice, despite it practically becoming white noise, alleviated some of the ever-present loneliness that was pressing down on his chest. 

Cyrus’ thoughts turned, once again, to the predicament at hand. He crossed the room, away from the glow of his night-light to his window. The parted curtains allowed pale moonlight, muted slightly by the clouds now, to pour inside. He leaned up against the window sill as though it was providing him with some kind of life support.

At that moment, maybe it was. 

Desperate for more noise, he fiddled clumsily with the lock for a moment before lifting the window with some effort. Cool evening rushed by him right into his room, whistling softly as it did so.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. 

Maybe he just had to do it. Maybe he had to let go of his inhibitions, his pre-conceived plans, _everything_ , and march right down those stairs with nothing but intent. The scared boy he once was would never have even _dreamed_ of doing something along those lines, but that wasn’t him anymore. There was a flame of confidence inside of him now that hadn’t been there previously, and although it flickered on occasion, even coming close to burning out, it somehow managed to remain there. 

_He could do this._ There was no one telling him he couldn’t, apart from himself. So why were his feet seemingly rooted to the carpet beneath his feet? 

Cyrus thought about his dad. He thought about the way those eyes always crinkled with laughter right after his own jokes, he thought about the way they clouded with concern whenever Cyrus walked through the door with slumped shoulders, exhausted from the drama of that day. He thought about the rare but impossibly warm hugs he would wrap Cyrus up in when he’d had a particularly bad day.

Then, his thoughts shifted to Sharon. The way her laughter became high-pitched shrieks of glee whenever they’d watch trashy TV shows together and a particularly funny moment cropped up. They way she’d given him space at first to become accustomed to the new house, and the way she’d embraced him with nothing but warmth.

They wanted the best for him. Of course they did. But did that extend to _this?_ Would that make them perfectly okay with having a gay son? Even if they _were_ accepting, would Cyrus have to live with their private disappointment about what could’ve been? Would he see it constantly in the way they looked at him, or the way they interacted with him? 

Cyrus had always been acutely fearful of being a disappointment, and it seemed nothing he did could wipe away the impression that he was, to his friends, to his family. 

To himself. 

He swallowed thickly, fingers trailing along the surface of his window sill as he continued to look out at the white sky. The clouds had parted again, revealing the entirety of the bright moon that had been briefly hidden away. 

Some of his shakiness had eased, but his heart still felt as though it might beat out of his chest with how rapidly it was thudding away. Adrenaline was surging through his veins, and nervousness was rising his throat as he turned to his bedroom door, which stood ajar only slightly. 

He decided upon sending a quick text, the light emanating from his phone momentarily illuminating his face, before setting it down on his desk again and squeezing his eyes shut.

Cyrus took one step. Then another. Music was still ringing out in his room, reverberating off the walls with how loud it was, and for a moment he was able to register shock at the fact that his dad hadn’t come up to ask what was going on. 

He padded down the stairs, tugging nervously at the sleeves of his shirt as he did so. Step by step, he made his way towards the kitchen. It was hot down there with the heater running, almost _too_ hot, and he felt his face warm slightly as he came to a stop.

The fireplace was crackling away, filled with hunks of fresh wood and stone-grey ashes. Shadows were cast onto his face, which was visibly pale even in the warm light. A speckled marble counter separated him from his dad, who was stood in the light of the kitchen by a chopping board. 

Cyrus’ heart was racing. 

“Dad?” 

His voice was timid, and the sound of it almost made him wince. He didn’t think he’d ever sounded so scared. 

“Yeah?” he hummed back distractedly, attention focused on the head of broccoli he was systematically chopping up. 

“I need to tell you guys something.” 

His dad halted in his movements, gaze turning towards him curiously. Cyrus placed his hands down against the cool marble. 

“Is...this something important?” 

Cyrus gave a meek nod. His dad placed the knife down immediately, features softened slightly with concern now. 

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” 

_This was it,_ he thought to himself, trying desperately to keep his breaths steady. _He couldn’t hide behind jokes this time around,_ although a part of him sincerely wanted to. It was his immediate coping mechanism in situations that were serious, and not being able to lean on it was daunting.

His dad re-emerged almost a minute later, Sharon in tow now. They sat themselves down on the black bar stools opposite Cyrus, who stepped back immediately to put some distance between them. Being close seemed to make things all the more real. 

Briefly, he noticed that they’d both assumed their therapist positions, but he tried not to linger on that fact. 

Cyrus felt as though he was on a stage, with blinding spotlights beaming down on him for a performance he hadn’t rehearsed for in the slightest.

Except - he _had_. He’d spent hours upon hours imagining every detail of this exact conversation, every detail of every possible outcome. He couldn’t depend upon that now, though. 

Three words. That’s all it would take. He didn’t have to drag any of this out, but of course, he was Cyrus and his natural response to nervousness was to blurt out whatever crossed his mind.

“Okay, I, um...I just want you to know that I’ve been wanting to do this for ages but I kept holding off because I wasn’t sure about it and _yeah_ , I guess it could kind of come as a shock, but I just...need you to know that the last thing I’d ever want to do is disappoint either of you, and I really hope this doesn’t change how you think about me, and I hope it doesn’t change how our Rabbi thinks of me and I hope this doesn’t have to be a big deal even though _oh boy,_ I’ve made this a big deal in my head! Um...I’m rambling, aren’t I? Yeah, I’m rambling.” 

His dad and step-mom had expressions on their faces that resembled shock, although only vaguely. They’d both been trained to conceal emotion and it had always been somewhat of an obstacle at the best of times. 

His dad was the first to speak, leaning forward on his elbows. 

“Cyrus...you can tell us whatever this is, okay? If it’s causing you this much stress, then...I think it’d be good to get off your chest.” 

Sharon nodded along in agreement. The only sounds that filled the room at that moment we’re the crackling of the fire, the low hum of the fridge running, and the muffled pop music blasting from Cyrus’ phone from upstairs. 

He took in a deep breath, before letting it out again with an audible whoosh. 

“I’m gay.” 

_Silence._

Cyrus’ eyes darted desperately between their faces, searching for any hint of emotion that would give away what they were feeling. His heart began to sink with disappointment, and he had to take a moment to swallow the lump that had appeared in the back of his throat. His mouth was dry, and his hands were becoming clammy again.

In reality, only a few seconds had passed, but it felt like _minutes_.

“Cyrus...” his dad trailed off, gesturing towards the stool that was placed opposite them. 

Cyrus bit his lip, before timidly stepping forward to sit down. His dad reached across the counter to take his hands, officially closing the distance between them. Sharon reached across too, a kind smile gracing her lips now, and Cyrus felt relief flood his system in one big rush. 

“I’m sorry you were scared to tell us, and I’m sorry we haven’t been there for you...the thought of that just...” his dad took a deep breath in, shaking his head.

Sharon chimed in. “Cyrus. We love you no matter what, okay? All four of us. Our Rabbi loves you. This world...it’s harsh sometimes, and unfair, but nothing could possibly change the way we feel. You’ll always have us.”

After trying hard to fight the tears that were pricking at his eyes, Cyrus finally allowed a few stray ones to slip down his cheeks. His friends had been one thing, but his dad and step-mom had been a whole _other_ thing, and those words had somehow managed to alleviate the heavy weight he felt pressing down on his chest. He choked back a small sob, before standing up from his chair and rushing around to them both. His dad was up in an instant, pulling him into a tight hug that Sharon was joining in on soon enough. 

“We’re here now,” he heard his dad murmur, followed by the feeling of a soft kiss being planted on his head. 

Cyrus grabbed onto his dad’s shirt, smiling despite the lump in his throat. He’d worried so, _so_ much about this, and it had all somehow turned out fine. One of his many talents was getting himself worked up, and now he was finally unwinding again after what seemed like months. An embarrassing amount of tears were making their way down his face now, being caught by the soft fabric of his dad’s shirt. 

“Thanks,” he responded, in a muffled whisper.

~

It was about forty-five minutes later that his dad called to him from the kitchen, announcing that dinner was ready. Cyrus’ tears had long dried up by now, and despite looking like somewhat of a mess he felt a lot more content than he had just over an hour ago. 

After rushing back up to his room to pause his music, he’d settled down on the couch and flicked through a few channels, eventually stopping on a soap opera he’d never heard of before and allowing all of its contrived drama to entertain him for a while.

Cyrus opened his mouth to respond, but shut it almost immediately when a few sharp knocks sounded at their front door. Confusion was written on his face as he got up from the couch, padding over to the darkened hallway and flicking on the light switch. He squinted for a moment, trying to make out who it was through the strip of stained glass beside the door, but eventually, he gave in with a shrug and moved forward to open it. Shadows shrank away from the light as it poured out onto the porch.

There, in all of his adorable glory, stood TJ.

Cyrus almost wanted to laugh. He’d _completely_ forgotten about sending that text.

His cheeks were tinged red from the cold and he appeared to be out of breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared back at the Cyrus. He was wearing a faded blue hoodie, the basketball printed onto it barely recognisable, and Cyrus couldn’t help the smile that came to his lips. 

“Hey,” he breathed out. 

TJ gave him a bright smile, seeming somewhat bashful as he reached up to rub the nape of his neck. 

“Hey. Sorry, I just got out of practice, but I got your message. How’d it go?” 

Cyrus tipped his head to the side at that, taking the boy in for a moment longer. His features were softened slightly by the glow of their overhead lamp, his hair was still slightly damp, presumably from showering, and his eyes were soft as they met his.

“Sorry, it’s just - you came,” he murmured, huffing out a laugh, “I didn’t expect you to.” 

“Of course I came,” TJ smiled back, “this is big for you.” 

The two looked across at one another for a few long seconds, cool evening breeze gusting over them. The sounds of approaching footsteps broke them both out of their seeming trances, and soon enough Cyrus’ dad was stepping out into the hallway.

“TJ! Hello,” he greeted, a pleasant smile on his lips as he walked forward. 

His eyes flickered from Cyrus, who was looking down at the ground, to TJ, who was nervously wringing his hands together. 

“Hey, Mr. Goodman!” 

His dad stared a moment longer, and Cyrus’ stomach flipped at the realisation that swept over his face.

“Such a gentleman,” he mused, huffing out a laugh as he stepped aside, “you can just call me Jack. Would you like to stay over for dinner? We have plenty.”

TJ looked conflicted for a moment, but eventually, he nodded. “If that’s okay, then that sounds great! I’d just have to check with my mom.” 

After sending a quick text, TJ was stepping in and toeing off his shoes by the rack, lingering for a moment by the doorway. Cyrus’ dad flashed them both a knowing look, before disappearing into the living room again. Cyrus turned to the boy again, a visible flush reddening his cheeks.

“It went well. I’m really glad I did it,” he told him, face lit up with a beaming smile.

TJ’s looked fond as he held out his arms, allowing Cyrus to step into them.

“I’m proud of you,” TJ mumbled against his neck, and Cyrus felt himself melt right then and there. He could barely keep the smile from his lips as he buried his face in the fabric of the boy’s hoodie. It smelt faintly of soap, and the usual scent of his cologne. Briefly, he considered the thought of just staying like this forever.

Unfortunately, though, they parted after what was maybe a moment too long. 

Butterflies were swarming his stomach as he looked up at TJ, leaving him with an almost dizzying feeling of jitteriness. He cleared his throat eventually, turning towards the doorway.

“We should probably, you know...”

“Yeah,” TJ agreed, somewhat breathlessly. 

They traipsed out into the dimly light living room, at the edge of which was their dining table had been set up for five people. With a giddy smile, Cyrus made his way over and settled down in the seat opposite his dad. TJ sat down beside him, and the pair shot each other a confused glance as Sharon began looking between them, much like his dad had just done.

Deep red candles were placed carefully in the centre of the table, glowing in the darkness, and it took Cyrus a moment or two to register that candles were _definitely_ not a normal thing for them at the dinner table. He hastily brushed the thought off.

“Thanks again for this,” said TJ.

Cyrus’ dad waved him off. “No problem! It’s always nice having you.” 

In typical fashion, their dinner started out with questions about school, which Cyrus and TJ answered as cheerfully as they could. 

“Hey, you guys know how TJ is like, a basketball god?” he asked after a few minutes, eager to change the topic.

He heard the boy laugh softly from beside him. “Well, basketball mortal. I haven’t upgraded to god status yet.” 

“You have in _my_ eyes,” Cyrus protested, expression softening at the adorable smile on TJ’s face. He stared, for what was likely a moment too long, before snapping himself out of it. “Um, anyways! Today during lunch break TJ got a perfect basket from all the way across the court, _literally_ standing backwards, on the first go! It was amazing. I could practically feel the power radiating from him.” 

TJ shook his head at that, face reddened slightly as he waved him off. “I’ve practised it a few times before-“ 

“Not today though! See what I mean, guys? He’s a modest basketball god.” 

Cyrus’ dad looked on in amusement, exchanging a fond look with Sharon before turning back to the pair. 

“That sounds impressive,” he agreed, voice heavy with implications Cyrus _really_ didn’t want to unpack, “I can see why you’re captain.” 

“Thank you,” TJ laughed, reaching over to place a gentle hand on Cyrus shoulder. 

“I wouldn’t be anywhere without this guy, though. He’s the best cheerleader anyone could ask for.” 

Cyrus beamed at that, taking a quick sip of his water. “I _do_ pride myself on my signs,” he bragged.

“I’m glad those signs are appreciated,” Sharon chimed in, “I swear I see you working on those day in and day out.” 

“I’m very dedicated,” Cyrus agreed with a nod, “three sporty friends mean a sign for each of their games.” 

The conversation continued on from there, the fireplace still crackling away in the background as they ate. Cyrus felt himself relaxing more with each second that passed, which was a side effect he’d noticed whenever TJ was around. Lately, seeing the boy with Kira never failed in stressing him out and making his throat close up - nothing at all like how he usually felt around him - but he was grateful to have that same peaceful feeling back.

Eventually, Cyrus’ dad asked a seemingly innocent question that had him very nearly choking on his water. 

“So TJ, do you have a girlfriend at all?”

After a few moments of spluttering, he managed to recover, flashing everyone a timid smile. 

TJ, who had previously seemed relatively relaxed, shifted nervously in his chair. He put down his cutlery with a slight clatter, opening his mouth to respond before closing it again. His eyes never left Cyrus’ as he responded, and Cyrus could feel the air seeping out of his lungs.

“No, I don’t...I’m uh, not really interested.” 

Sharon‘s eyebrows shot up at that, but otherwise she nodded and gave him a polite smile. His _dad_ on the other hand, had a knowing glint in his eye as his gaze met Cyrus’. 

He blushed, suddenly finding his plate of food to be the most fascinating thing in the room. Luckily, Sharon reverted to asking TJ about how his parents were doing, and the boy was more than happy to fill her in.

They excused themselves after about twenty more minutes, retreating upstairs towards Cyrus’ room. It was dark when they entered, with the warmth from his night light illuminating one side of the room, while moonlight lit up the other. 

He walked over to his window, closing it to prevent any more wind from gusting in, before settling down on his bed. TJ followed suit, smiling gently as he crossed his legs. 

“You know what I wanna get?” he asked.

Cyrus, who had been somewhat preoccupied with the way the moonlight was currently falling onto TJ’s face, blinked at him for a moment or two. 

“Um,” he paused, clearing his throat, “what do you wanna get?” 

“A tattoo,” he answered eagerly, hands clasped together on his lap.

Cyrus gave him a confused smile. “A _tattoo?_ What kind?”

“Like...” TJ trailed off, seeming bashful all of a sudden, “maybe an inside joke between just us. Somersault or something, you know?” 

“That’s super sweet...apart from the fact that you’re fourteen and tattoos are permanent,” Cyrus told him, clicking in his tongue in disapproval, “stealing a golf cart is one thing, but illegally getting a tattoo is a whole other thing.” 

TJ just grinned. “One day, then.” 

Cyrus nodded. TJ’s eyes were gleaming mischievously in the moonlight, and he had what was possibly the most _adorable_ smile on his lips to contrast. It made him feel warm but jittery inside at the same time, which proved to be a pretty odd combination. He shifted slightly, eyes never leaving the boy. 

“You know...tattoos are permanent, but markers aren’t.” 

TJ bit his lip at that, clearly fighting back a smile. “Are you asking me if you can draw a tattoo on my arm?” 

“A _design_ , not a tattoo,” Cyrus corrected, getting up from the bed and moving over to his desk. He rummaged through his drawers for a moment, before pulling letting out a triumphant _‘aha!’_ as he pulled out a black marker.

His phone, which was still sitting on his desk, lit up with a notification. Cyrus glanced down at it for a moment, before disregarding it and resuming the pop music he’d been blasting earlier, at a reasonable volume this time. 

TJ flashed him a smirk as he made his way back over to the bed, sitting across from the boy. 

“I’m ready for my tattoo.” 

With an eye-roll, Cyrus gave his shoulder a playful shove. 

“What _design_ would you like, Sir Kippen?”

TJ hummed thoughtfully at that, looking out at the night sky for a moment as he did so. 

“A heart with an arrow going through it, with ‘somersault’ written inside of it.” 

Cyrus felt his face grow warm, and he prayed it wouldn’t be noticeable given the low amount of light. He shuffled closer to the boy with a faint smile, chancing a glance up.

TJ’s eyes were warm, and his lips were parted slightly, and now that his hair had dried it looked so ridiculously fluffy. Cyrus had to close his eyes for a moment to redirect his focus. 

“Okay,” he murmured, gently taking the boy’s arm and resting it on his leg, “I’m not a professional by any means, but I’ll see what I can do.” 

Sparks danced in the air around them, particularly with each point of contact, and suddenly that swarm of butterflies was making a reappearance in Cyrus’ stomach. He took in a shaky breath, hoping to god TJ wouldn’t notice how nervous he was, before taking the lid off of his marker. 

He glanced up once more to find TJ watching his every move, and a small smile came to his lips as he set to work. 

“Okay, so...I’ll do the word first,” he whispered, voice competing slightly with the upbeat music that filled his room. 

Cyrus shuffled impossibly closer, before carefully writing the word _‘somersault’_ in cursive on the inner part of TJ’s wrist. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually heard the boy take in a sharp breath, or if that was just his guileless mind imagining things. Either way, he had to bite back a smile. 

“Okay, I think that’s good. Now the heart,” he said, in a murmur this time. 

He glanced up again to find that TJ was clinging onto every word that left his mouth. Letting out a breath, he returned to work. 

It ended up looking decent in the end, and a strange sense of disappointment filled his chest as he shuffled back to his previous position. 

TJ gave him a roguish smile. “I think I just illegally got a tattoo. A very nice one too, might I add.”

“Shut up!” Cyrus giggled, and TJ only narrowly managed to dodge the pillow he aimed at him. 

~

The glow of a street lamp was the only thing to illuminate TJ’s features as the boy gazed back at him. His smile was soft, and his eyes were alight with something Cyrus couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

They were stood where Cyrus’ lawn met the pavement, silence filling the air apart from the cars that occasionally passed by.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, bashfully directing his gaze towards the concrete. There were unspoken words there, he knew there were, but neither of them seemed to be ready to acknowledge them just yet.

Instead, they settled in the air, covering them like a blanket with the promise of something more later on. In that moment, it was more than enough for Cyrus. 

He stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and reached out to place his hands on TJ’s shoulders. His heart was racing all over again.

TJ smiled gently. “Thanks for having me.” 

“No problem,” Cyrus returned, acutely aware of the fact that he was currently in the boy’s space. “Get home safe, you rebel.” 

TJ laughed softly. “I’ll consider it.” 

“You better! We still have that detention, and I’m not suffering through it alone.” 

The boy’s expression softened. A pitch black sky stretched above their heads, speckled with burning stars, and Cyrus didn’t think he’d felt so peaceful in a long time. 

“I’ll be there,” he promised.

“Good,” Cyrus whispered back. 

They lingered there for a moment longer. Cyrus let out a shaky exhale, which he could briefly see in the air.

“I’ll message you later tonight,” he added.

TJ took a step back then, still smiling. “I’ll be waiting. Bye, Cy.” 

He turned around and walked away, looking back when he reached the next streetlamp to give Cyrus a wave. The boy smiled and returned it. 

At the streetlamp after that, TJ jumped up, tapping his shoes together, and Cyrus let out a giggle that cut through the silence. 

He pretended not to notice the knowing looks he received when he went back inside. 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I'm officially going to sleep now, but I!! Love!! Cyrus!! Goodman!!
> 
> Kudos/comments are appreciated as always if you liked the fic <3


End file.
